tly. 'Yet even over the glue-pot and vice thoughts come to a man
that cannot easily be got rid of.'

There followed a pause in the conversation, which lasted until Dollie,
the miner's little daughter, turned to the apprentice with the
question, 'Were the Swedes so very ugly? Had they got horns on their
heads, or only one eye each, like the giants in the "Seven-leagued
Boots," who used to eat little boys and girls? And oh, perhaps they
had dreadful, great mouths, with rows of sharp teeth in them!'

In spite of their terrors, none of those present could restrain their
laughter at the child's artless fears.

'I only had one look at the Swede as he leaped his horse over me,' said
Conrad; 'and he looked just like anybody else, only that he had black
hair and a fierce red moustache, just like'--and he broke off abruptly,
and stared at the elder journeyman, then went on: 'Yes, such a long
moustache that he could have tied it in a knot behind his head.'

'What!' stammered the journeyman, turning pale; 'black hair and a red
moustache?'

'Yes,' replied Conrad; 'it looked so uncommonly odd, that it was the
only thing I noticed about him.'

The journeyman sat silent for the rest of the evening. When the
company had dispersed, he turned to the lad and said: 'My boy, now tell
me the oath you heard the--the Swede use.'

Conrad looked at his companion in astonishment, and saw signs of some
deep emotion on his face. 'But,' he objected, 'only a little while ago
you said I was not to let any one hear the oath, and now'--

'You are quite right,' replied the journeyman. 'Hold fast by what I
told you. But if you write down the words on this piece of paper for
me it will hurt no one. I have a good reason for wanting to see them.
Can you write?'

'I should just think I could,' said Conrad, half offended by the
question. He wrote the words down, and noticed that as soon as the
journeyman had read them he became even paler than before, and muttered
something between his set teeth.

CHAPTER III.

PRIVATE RIGHTS MUST GIVE PLACE TO PUBLIC NECESSITIES.

On the 9th of November 1642, the forest of Freiberg presented a scene
of the busiest activity. Several hundred men were at work, and many a
great pine and fir tree bowed its lofty head beneath the stroke of axe
and saw, to fall at last crashing to earth. The wood-cutters from the
mines vied with those from the city--joiners, carpenters, wheelwrights,
and coopers--in th